P  S 
281*5 
15 
G76 


MAIN 


UC-NRLF 


B    2 


GROUPED  THOUGHTS 


AND 


A    COLLECTION    OF    SONNETS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
'jurriB,"  "SOUTHERN  PASSAGES  AKD  PICTURES,"  &c. 


RICHMOND,  VA. 

Printed  by  Wm.  Macfarlane,  Mestengcr  Office  : 
1845. 


A1ATAJ 


SONNETS. 


GROUPED  THOUGHTS,  &c. 

) 

INVOCATION. 


that  dwcllcst  in  the  opening  flower, 
Ami  bathcst  in  the  morning'*  earliest  dcw,- 
Thou  that  hast  wings  to  hurry  on  the  hour, 

And  makest  that  lovely  which  were  else  but  true- 
^  iclding  frrsh  odor  for  the  hungering  sense, 
Teaching  the  zephyr  mournful  eloquence, 
And,  when  he  brings  his  worship  to  the  rose, 
That  pivcsi  such  heavenly  sweetness  to  his  tone, 
That  fancy  straightway  deems  it  music's  own  !  ' 
Come  to  me,  spirit,  from  thy  far  domain— 
^  Fain  would  I,  with  a  tenderness  like  thino, 
To  her  I  love,  of  her  I  love,  complain; 

For  she  hath  beckon'd  me  to  seek  her  shrine, 
Beholds  me  there,  yet  nothing  heeds  my  pain 


6 

SYMPATHIES. 
II. 

I  will  breathe  music  in  the  little  bell 

That  cups  this  flower,  until  it  takes  a  tone 
For  every  feeling  human  heart  has  known ; 
Though  hearts  their  secrets  may  not  often  tell, 
Mine  is  the  charm  to  win  them :  I  will  wake 

Strains,  which  though  new  to  men,  they  shall  not  fail 
To  tremble  as  they  hear, — as  an  old  tale, 
Will  with  new  joy  the  absent  wanderer  take, 
Moving  his  spirit  with  a  strange  delight ! 

Love  will  I  win  from  friendship — the  old  lure 

Will  I  make  new,  and  all  the  new  secure ; 

And  beauty  never  thence  shall  fade  from  sight ! 

Think  not  I  mock  thee — spells  of  higher  power 

Are  gathered  in  the  blue  depths  of  this  flower. 


TO  THE  SISTER  OF  MY  FRIEND. 

in. 

Sweet  Lady  !  in  tho  name  of  one  no  more, 
Both  of  us  loved  and  neither  shall  forget, 

Make  me  thy  brother, — though  our  hearts  before, 
Perchance,  have  never  in  communion  met ; 

Give  me  thy  gentle  memories,  though  there  be, 

Between  our  forms  some  thousand  miles  of  sea, 


"Wild  tract  and  wasted  desert :— let  me  still, 
Whate'er  the  joy  that  warms  me,  or  the  thrill. 

That  tortures,  and  from  which  I  may  not  dec, 
Hold  ever  a  sweet  place  within  thy  breast ! 
In  this  my  spirit  shall  be  more  than  bless''' — 
And  in  my  prayers,— if,  haply,  prayer  of  .nine 
Be  not  a  wrong  unto  a  soul  like  thine, — 

There  shall  be  blessings  from  the  skies  for  thcc. 


DEATH  IN  YOUTH. 

IV. 

They  icll  us — whom  the  Gods  love,  die  in  youth  ' 

'Tis  something  to  die  innocent  and  pure ; 

But  death  without  performance,  is  most  sure, 
Ambition's  martyrdom — worst  death,  in  truth, 
To  the  aspirin?  temper,  fix'd  in  thought, 

Of  high  achievement !  Happier  far  are  they, 
Who,  as  the  Prophet  of  the  Ancients  taught, 

Hail  the  bright  finish  of  a  perfect  day  ! 
With  fullest  consummation  of  each  aim, 

That  wrought  the  hope  of  manhood— with  the  crown, 
Fix'd  to  their  mighty  brows,  of  amplest  fame, 

Who  smile  at  death's  approaches  and  lie  down, 
Calmly,  as  one  beneath  the  shade  tree  yields, 
Satisfied  of  the  morrow  and  green  fields. 


8 

SABBATH  IN  THE  WOODS. 

v. 

Let  us  escape !  This  is  our  holiday — 

God's  day,  devote  to  rest;  and,  through  tlio  \vood 
We'll  wander, and,  perchance,  find  heavenly  food, 

So,  profitless  it  shall  not  pass  away. 

Tis  life,  but  with  sweet  difference,  methinks, 
Here,  in  the  forest ; — from  the  crowd  set  free, 

The  spirit,  like  escaping  song-bird  drinks 
Fresh  sense  of  music  from  its  liberty. 

Thoughts  crowd  about  us  with  the  trees — the  shade 
Holds  teachers  that  await  UH  :  in  our  car, 
Unwonted,  but  sweet  voices  do  wo  hear, 

That  with  rare  excellence  of  tongue  persuade  : 

They  do  not  chide  our  idlesse, — were  content, 

If  all  our  walks  were  half  so  innocent. 


FLOWERS  AND  TREES. 

VI. 

March  is  profuse  in  violets — at  our  feet 
They  cluster,— not  in  pride  but  modesty  ; 
The  damsel  pauses  as  she  passes  by, 

Plucks  them  with  smiles,  and  calls  them  very  sweet. 

But  such  beguile  me  not !  The  trees  are  mine, 
These  hoary  headed  masters ;— and  I  glide, 


9 

Humbled,  beneath  their  unpresnming  pride, 
And  wist  not  much  what  blossoms  bud  or  shine. 
I  better  love  to  see  yon  grandsire  oak, 
Old  Druid-patriarch,  lone  among  his  race,— 
\Vith  blessing,  out-stretched  arms,  as  giving  grace, 
"W  hen  solemn  rites  are  said,  or  bread  is  broke  : 
Decay  is  at  his  roots,— the  storm  has  been 
Among  his  limbs,— -but  the  old  top  is  green. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT. 

vn. 

The  pine  with  its  green  honors;  cypress  gray. 

Bedded  in  waters;   crimsoning  with  bloom, 
The  maple,  that,  irreverently  gay, 

Too  soon,  methinks,  throws  oiF  his  winter  gloom; 
The  red  bud,  lavish  in  its  every  spray, 

Glowing  with  promise  of  the  exulting  spring, 

And  over  all  the  laurel,  like  some  king, 
Conscious  of  strength  and  stature,  born  for  sway. 
I  care  not  for  their  spcciea— never  look 
For  class  or  order  in  pedantic  book,— 
Enough  that  I  behold  them— that  they  lead 

To  meek  retreats  of  solitude  and  thought, 
Declare  me  from  the  world's  day-labors  freed, 

And  bring  roe  tidings  books  have  never  brought. 


10 
RELIGIOUS  MUSING. 

vm. 

The  mighty  and  the  massy  of  the  wood 
Compel  my  worship  :  satisfied  I  lie, 
With  nought  in  sight  but  forest,  earth  and  sky, 
And  give  sweet  sustenance  to  precious  mood  ! — 
'Tis  thus  from  visible  but  inanimate  tilings, 
We  gather  mortal  reverence.     They  declare 
In  silence,  a  persuasion  I  must  share, 
Of  hidden  sources,  far  spiritual  springs, 
Fountains  of  deep  intelligence,  and  powers, 
That  man  himself  pursues  not;  and  I  grow 
From  wonder  into  worship,  as  the  show, 
Majestic,  but  unvoiced,  through  noteless  hours, 
Imposes  on  my  soul,  with  musings  high, 
That,  like  Jacob's  Ladder,  lifts  them  to  the  sky  ! 


SOLACE  OF  THE  WOODS. 

IX. 

Woods,  waters,  have  a  charm  to  soothe  thine  ear, 
When  common  sounds  have  vex'd  it.     When  the  day 
Grows  sultry,  and  the  crowd  is  in  thy  way, 
And  working  in  thy  soul  much  coil  and  care,— 
Betake  thee  to  the  forests.     In  the  shade 
Of  pines,  and  by  the  side  of  purling  streams 


11 


That  prattle  all  their  secrets  in  their  dreams, 
Unconscious  of  a  listener, — unafraid, — 
Thy  soul  shall  feel  their  freshening,  and  the  truth 

Of  nature  then,  reviving  in  thy  heart, 
Shall  bring  thee  the  best  feelings  of  thy  youth, 

When  in  all  natural  joys,  thy  joy  had  part, 
Ere  lucre  and  the  narrowing  toils  of  trade 
Had  turn'd  thcc  to  the  thing  tliou  wast  not  made. 


POETRY  OF  THE  FOREST, 
x. 

These  haunts  arc  sacred, — for  the  vulgar  mood 

Loves  not  seclusion.     Here  the  very  day 
Seems  in  a  Sabbath  dreaminess  to  brood, 

The  groves  breathe  slumber — the  great  tree-tops  sway 
Drowsily,  with  the  idle-going  wind  ; 
And  sweetest  images  before  my  mind 

Persuade  me  into  pleasure,  with  their  play. 
Here,  fancies  of  the  present  and  the  past 

Delight  to  mingle,  'till  the  palpable  seems 

Inseparate  from  the  glory  in  my  dreams, 
And  golden  with  the  halo  round  it  cast : 

Thus  do  I  live  with  Rosalind,  thus  stray 
With  Jacques ;  and  churning  o'er  some  native  rhyme, 
Persuade  myself  it  smacks  of  the  old  time. 


12 
FANCIES. 

XT. 

Here,  on  this  bank  of  bruised  violets, 

That  the  crush'd   odor  comes  from,  lay  thee  down, 

And  listen  to  the  silence,  and  leaves  blown, 
Until  thy  overtask'd,  sad  heart  fory'i 

The  sleepless  struggle  of  yon  b  jsy  town  ! 
There,  every  passion  sickens  ere  'tis  spent, 

Here,  others  follow  ere  the  first  are  done, 
Each,  like  its  fellow,  meetly  innocent, 

Soul  sweetening,  and  most  easy  to  be  won! 
And  woman  !— thou  shall  see  her  as  at  first, 

When,  on  a  bank  like  this,  in  Eden  sleeping, 
On  sight  of  its  lone  habitant  she  burst, 

Suddenly  bright,  as  heavenly  rainbow  leaping, 
From  the  retiring  cloud  where  it  was  nurst. 


THE  WINDS. 

XII. 

These  are  God's  blessed  ministers,  methinks, 
These  winds  that  whisper  to  the  heart  subdued, 

So  winningly,  that  still  the  sad  ear  drinks 
Their  messages  of  mercy,  and  the  mood 

Grows  chaste  and  unresentful— while  the  blight 
Passes  from  off  the  spirit  that,  but  late, 


13 


Gloom'd  with  the  gloomy  progress  of  the  night, 
And  spoke  defiance  to  the  will  of  fate. — 

Comforts  they  bring  \\ith  the  submissive  thought 
That  teaches,  sorrow  still  is  the  best  friend, 

And  moves  to  bless  thechastener,  that  has  brought 
The  heart  to  tremble  and  the  knees  to  bend,— 

Counselling  that  belter  hope,  that  born  of  fears, 

Is  nursed  in  trembling  and  baptised  in  tears. 


NIGHT. 

XIII. 

Moonlight  is  down  'mong  shadow-keeping  hills, 
And  bright  o'er  placid  waters  :  let  us  go  : — 
1  would  not  seek  my  couch  while  such  a  show 

Of  beauty  all  the  blue  empyrean  fills. 

Give  open  brow  to  joy— throw  wide  the  vest 

To  the  fair  angel  that  would  make  us  blest ; 

Welcome  the  vision,  fresh  and  beautiful, 

And  shame  to  snatch  it  with  a  spirit  dull ! 

Look,  where  the  shadows  of  the  houses  cast, 
Grow  sick  with  the  gay  loveliness  of  night ; 

And  as  her  living  beams  flock,  hurrying  past, 
How  shrink  they,  as  if  shuddering  at  the  bright — 

Let  us  away,  dear  heart,  'tis  beauty's  hour, 

And  we  must  share  her  smiles,  and  smiling  seize  her  flower. 


14 
HARBOR  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

XIV. 

The  open  sea  before  mo,  bathed  in  light, 
As  if  it  knew  no  tempest ;  the  near  shore 

Crown'd  with  its  fortresses,  all  green  and  bright, 
As  if  'twere  safo  from  carnage  ever  more ; 

And  woman  on  the  rampurta;  while  below 
Girlhood, and  thoughtless  children  bound  and  play 
As  if  their  hearts,  in  one  long  holiday, 

Had  sweet  assurance  'gainst  to-morrow's  wo  :  — 

Afar,  the  queenly  city,  with  her  spires, 
Articulate,  in  the  moonlight, — that  above, 

Seems  to  look  downward  with  intenser  fires, 
As  wrapt  in  fancies  near  akin  to  love  ; 

One  star  attends  her  which  she  cannot  chido, 

Meek  as  the  virgin  by  the  matron's  side. 


MEMORIES  OF  FANCY. 

xv. 

This  fairy  vision  gladdens  us  no  more, 
As  in  our  days  of  boyhood  ; — it  is  gone, 

The  glory  which  in  fancy's  eye  it  wore, 
The  crown  of  spiritual  semblance  it  put  on,— 

The  lustre  and  the  holy  tenderness, — 
Appealing,  as  it  were,  to  glimmering  ties, 


15 


Of  some  past  being,  that  we  love  not  less, 
Uecause  beyond  our  memory's  reach  it  lies. 

And  yet,  even  now,  these  mellow  smiles  of  light, — 
That  aad  and  sinking  star — these   silent  woods, 

Sprinkled  with  gleams,  that,  as  we  gaze,  take  flight — 
\Vakc  strange,  sad  thoughts,  and  still  superior  moods, 

And  in  the  eyes  that  once  they  filled  with  joy, 

Tears  gather,— and  the  man  is  twice  the  boy  ! 


THE  NATAL  STAR. 

XVI. 

There  is  a  pale  and  solitary  star, 

That,  with  a  sudden  but  a  sweet  surprise, 

Nightly,  with  little  heed  of  bolt  or  bar, 

Peeps  in  upon  my  couch  and  opes  mine  eyes. 

The  office  of  so  pure  a  visitor, 

Must  be  for  healing.     Lovely  was  the  thought, 

That,  in  the  dreams  of  old  astrologer, 

Such  influence,  with  the  fate  of  mortal,  wrought ! 

Nor,  though  this  presence  robs  me  of  my  rest, 
And  makes  me  sad  with  lifeless  memories, 
Shall  it  be  curtain'd  from  my  weary  eyes : 

As  my  twin-angel,  blessing  still  and  bless'd, 

I  welcome  it,  and  still  lament  the  night, 

When  storm  or  cloud  obscures  it  from  my  oight. 


16 
NIGHT  STORM. 

XVII. 

This  tempest  sweeps  the  Atlantic ! — Nevasink 
Is  howling  to  the  Capes!  Grim  Ilatteras  cries, 

Like  thousand  damned  ghosts,  that  on  the  brink 

Lift  their  dark  hands  and  threat  the  threatening  skies ; 

Surging  through  foam  and  tempest,  old  Roman, 
Hangs  o'er  the  gulf,  and  with  his  cavernous  throat, 
Pours  out  the  torrent  of  his  wolfish  note, 

And  bids  the  billows  bear  it  where  they  can ! 

Deep  culleth  unto  deep,  and  from  the  cloud, 
Launches  the  bolt,  that  bursting  o'er  the  sea, 

Rends  for  a  moment  the  thick  pitchy  shroud, 
And  show*  tho  ship  the  whore  luMioath  her  lea:— 

Start  not,  dear  wife,  no  dangers  here  betide,-— 

And  sec,  the  boy,  Htill  sleeping  at  your  side ! 


SLEEPING  INFANT. 

XVIII. 

Sweetness  and  gamesome  images  turround 
Thy  rest,  young  pilgrim !  Pleasant  breezes  come, 

And  bear  the  odors  of  the  blossoming  ground, 
And  wavn  their  wing*  nlwvn  thy  forrltntulVi  bloom 

And  O  !  that  life  may  glide  away  with  thco 
In  infantile  enjoyment ! — while  J  pray 


17 

Above  thy  baby  couch,  that  thou  may'st  bo 

(luarded  by  nn^-ln,  innocent  us  they, 
I  would  deny  tlico  the  vain  hopes  that  crowd 

Tho  child-heart's  being !  Thou  should'st  never  dream 
Tlin^o  jrrcat,  gay  visions  that  make  boyhood  proud  ; 

Nor  hhould  deceitful  fancy  lend  0110  gleam, 
To  lead  theo  blindly  through  those  perilous  years, 
\Vhirh  the  extravagant  hopo  Mtill  thrones  with  cares! 


PRAYER. 

XIX. 

Not  blind  to  mine  own  weakness,  whicl  lacks  power 
To  save,  though  thing*,  the  drarcsl  to  mine  eye, 
Sink,  needing  help,  and  vainly  to  me  cry,— 
I  cry  to  thee,  O !  (Jod !  in  this  dark  hour! 
Spare  me  in  mercy  '.—let  thy  chaxtenin?  blows 
Fall  lightly !— Thou  hast  taken  from  my  heart 
The  friond*  of  youth  ,— lh«'»o  «yc«  have  ncen  depart 
All  my  hopc'b  dear  ones,  ;>nd  the  herd  of  woes 
llavo  wolvcd  on  my  alTcctions,  till  I  stand 
Almost  alone  i'  the  forest!  To  my  years 
Be  merciful, — and  to  my  feeble  prayers, 
Accord  the  littlo  breatli  of  one  whoso  sand 
Of  hfo  is  just  begun  !  Spare  mo  this  child, 
For  the  dear  mother  bparc, — Eternal  sire !  he  mild. 
2 


18 
THE  AGE  OF  GOLD. 

xx. 

These  times  deserve  no  song — they  but  deride 

The  poet's  holy  craft, — nor  his  alone ; 

Methinks  as  little  courtesy  is  shown 
To  what  was  chivalry  in  days  of  pride : 
Honor  but  meets  with  mock  :  the  worldling  shakes 

His  money-bags,  and  cries — "my  strength  is  here; 
Overthrows  my  enemy,  his  empire  takes 

And  makes  the  ally  serve,  the  alien  fear  !" 
I«  love  the  object  ?  Cash  is  conqueror, — 

Wins  hearts  as  soon  as  empires — puts  his  foot 
Upon  tiie  best  affections,  and  will  spur 

His  way  to  eloquence,  when  Vaith  stands  mute ; 
And  for  Religion, — can  we  hope  for  her, 

When  love  and  valor  serve  the  same  poor  brute  ! 


THE  OLD  MASTERS. 

XXI. 

I  reverence  these  old  masters — men  who  sung 
Or  painted,  not  for  love  of  praise  or  fame  ; 

Who  heeded  not  the  popular  eye  or  tongue, 

And  craved  no  present  honors  for  their  name  : 

Who  toil'd  because  they  sorrow'd  !  In  their  hearts 
The  secret  of  their  inspiration  lay ; — 


10 


When  these  were  by  the  oppressor's  minions  wrung, 
The  terrible  pang  to  utterance  forced  its  way. 

And  hence  it  is,  their  passionate  song  imparts, 
To  him  who  listens,  a  like  sensible  wo, 

That  moves  him  much  to  turn  aside  and  pray 
As  if  his  personal  grief  had  present  claim  ; — 

Thus  Dante  found  his  muse, — the  pride  and  shame 

Of  Florence  ;— Milton  thus,  and  Michael  Angelo  ! 


AIMS. 

XXII. 

There  have  been  earnest  fancies  in  my  soul, 
A  wilder  summons,— deeper  cares  than  these, 

That  now  possess  my  spirit  and  control, 
Subduing  me  to  forests  and  green  trees ; 

Thoughts  have  availed  me  in  my  solitude, 
Of  human  struggle ! — and  within  mine  ear, 
Still  and  anon,  a  wiuspering  voice  I  hear, 

That  mocks  me  with  my  feebleness  of  mood; 

The  puny  toil  of  song — the  idle  dance     . 

Of  metaphor,  and  shadows  of  romance  ! 

Points  to  superior  struggle— paints  the  cares 
Of  Empire, — the  great  nation  in  the  toils 

Of  impotence,  that  still  in  blindness  dares, 
And  what  it  cannot  elevate  despoils. 


20 
VITALITY  OF  STATES. 

xxin. 

Sudden,  the  mighty  nation  goes  not  down ; — 
There  is  no  mortal  fleetness  in  its  fate  : — 
Time, — many  omens — still  anticipate 

The  peril  that  removes  its  iron  crown, 

And  shakes  its  homes  in  ruins.     Centuries 
Fleet  by  in  the  long  struggle  ;  and  great  men 

Rush,  mounted,  to  the  breach  where  victory  lies, 
.     And  personal  virtue  brings  us  life  again  ! 

Were  it  not  thus,  my  Country  ! — were  this  hope 
Not  ours, — the  present  were  a  fearful  time  ; 

Vainly  we  summon  mighty  hearts  to  cope 
With  thy  oppressors, — vanity  and  crime — 

These  ride  thce,  as  upon  some  noble  beast, 

The  scoundrel  jackal,  hurrying  to  his  feast. 


HOME  SERVICE. 

XXIV. 

Would  wo  recal  our  virtues  and  our  peace  ? 

The  ancient  teraphim  we  must  restore  ; 

Bring  back  the  household  gods  we  loved  of  yore, 
And  bid  our  yearning  for  strange  idols  cease. 
Our  worship  still  is  in  the  public  way, — 

Our  altars  are  the  market-place  ;— our  prayer 


21 


Strives  for  meet  welcome  in  our  neighbor's  ear, 
And  heaven  affects  us  little  while  we  pray. 

We  do  not  call  on  God  but  man  to  hear ; — 
Nor  even  on  his  affections  ; — wo  have  lost 

The  sweet  humility  of  our  home  desires 

And  flaunt  in  foreign  fashions  at  rare  cost ; 
Nor  God  our  souls,  nor  man  our  hearts,  inspires, 

Nor  aught  that  should  to  God  or  man  be  dear. 


PROMISE, 
xxv. 

Another  yet,  and  still  another  height, 

And  still  the  last  most  wearisome  ;  hut  hark  ! 

Comes  not,  like  bless'd  starlight  through  the  dark, 
Smiling  with  soft  but  most  effectual  light, 
The  confident  look  of  hope,  that  cheers  us  still — 
Mocks  at  the  toilsome  waste  of  wood  and  hill, 
And  with  most  sweet  assurance  of  a  joy, 

That  wails  and  beckons  at  the  cottage  door, 
Takes  off  the  oppressive  toil,  the  day's  annoy, 

And  teaches  that  the  task  will  soon  be  o'er,— 
Forgot  in  arras  we  love  : — then,  if  we  tell 

Of  the  day's  journey,  wearisome  and  sad, 
Twill  be,  in  thanks  and  blessings,  that  so  well 

It  ended, — in  a  night  so  bright  and  glad. 


22 
APPROACH  OF  WINTER. 

XXVI. 

Comes  winter  with  an  aspect  dark  to  me, 

Harried  with  storms  so  long  ?   Are  his  brows  stern, 
Speaks  he  a  language  of  asperity 

Unfit  for  him  to  speak  or  me  to  learn  ? 
And  do  I  shrink  from  the  impending  stroke 

That  follows  his  keen  chiding  *  Would  I  fly 
The  terror  of  his  presence,  and  that  yoke, 

Borne  with  so  long  and  so  reluctantly  1 
No !  from  its  prison-house  of  care  and  pain, 

My  spirit  dares  defy  him.     Well  inured 
To  trial,— I  have  borne  it— not  in  vain, 

Since  conquered  is  the  destiny  endured — 
Endured  with  no  base  spirit !  I  have  grown, 
Familiar  with  the  future  in  the  known. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT. 

XXVII. 

Yet  bitter  were  the  lessons  of  that  past 

When  life  was  one  long  winter!  Childhood  knew 

Nor  blossom,  nor  delight.     No  sunshine  cast 

The  glory  of  green  leaves  about  mine  eye ; 
No  zephyr  laden  with  sweet  perfumes  blew 

For  me,  its  Eastern  tribute  from  a  sky, 


23 

Looking  down  love  upon  me ;  and  my  mood 
Yearn'd  for  its  kindred— for  the  humblest  tie 

To  human  hopes,  and  aspirations  true  ! 

Sickness,  and  suffering,  and  solitude 
CouchM  o'er  my  cradle  :  cheerless  was  the  glance 

That  watched  my  slumbers  in  those  feeble  hours, 

When  pity,  with  her  tears,  her  only  power*, 
Might  have  brought  hope  if  not  deliverance. 


CHILDHOOD. 

xxvni. 

That  season  which  all  other  m«?r.  regret, 
And  strive  with  boyish  longing  to  recal, 

Which  love  permits  net  memory  to  forget, 
And  fancy  still  restores  in  dicams  of  all 

That  boyhood  worship'd,  or  believed,  or  knew, — 

Brings  no  sweet  images  to  me— was  true, 

Only  in  cold  and  cloud,  in  lonely  days 

And  gloomy  fancies— in  defrauded  claims, 
Defeated  hopes,  denied,  denying  aims  ; — 

Cheer'd  by  no  promise— lighted  by  no  rays, 

Warm'd  by  no  smile— no  mother's  smile,— that  smile, 

Of  all,  best  suited  sorrow  to  beguile, 

And  strengthen  hope,  and  by  unmark'd  degrees, 

Encourage  to  their  birth,  high  purposes. 


24 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT, 
xxix. 

Why  should  I  fear  the  winter  now,  when  free 

To  meet  and  mingle  in  the  strifes  of  man ; 
The  danger  to  defy  which  now  I  see, 

The  oppressor  to  o'erth.ow  whom  now  I  can ! 
Childhood  !  the  season  of  my  weaknesses, 

Is  gone  ! — the  muscle  in  my  arm  is  strong ; 
No  longer  is  there  trembling  in  my  knees, 

And  my  soul  kindles  at  the  look  of  wrong, 
And  burns  in  free  defiance  ! — never  more 

Let  me  recal  the  hour  when  I  was  weak, 
To  shrink,  to  seek  for  refuge,  to  implore ; 

When  I  was  scorn'd  or  trampled,  but  to  speak, 
When  anger,  rising  high,  though  crouching  low, 
Should,  like  the  tiger,  spring  upon  his  foe. 


STRUGGLE. 

XXX. 

Yet,  in  recalling  these  vex'd  memories, 

Mine  is  no  thought  of  vengeance  !     If  I  speak 
Of  childhood,  as  a  time  that  found  me  weak, 

I  utter  no  complaint  of  injuries  ; 

These  tried,  but  did  not  crush  me  ;  and  they  made 

My  spirit  rise  to  a  superior  mood, — 


25 

Taught  me  em  urance,  and  meet  hardihood, 
And  all  life's  better  energies  array'd 

For  that  long  conflict  which  must  end  in  death, 
Or  victory  ! — and  victory  shall  yet  he  mine ! 

They  cannot  keep  me  from  my  right — the  spoil 

Which  is  the  guerdon  of  superior  toil- 
Devotion  that,  defying  hostile  breath, 
Ceased  not  to  "  watch  and  pray,"  though  stars  refused  to  shine  ! 


MANHOOD. 


Manhood  at  last ! — and,  \vith  its  consciousness, 

Arc  strength  and  freedom  ;  freedom  to  pursue 
The  purposes  of  hope — the  godlike  bliss, 

Born  in  the  struggle  for  the  great  and  true  ! 
And  every  energy  that  should  be  mine, 

This  day,  I  dedicate  to  its  object, — Life! 
So  help  me  Heaven,  that  never  I  resign 

The  duty  which  devotes  me  to  the  strife ; — 
The  enduring  conflict  which  demands  my  strength, 

Whether  of  soul  or  body,  to  the  last ; 
The  tribute  of  my  years,  through  all  their  length, — 

The  future's  compensation  to  the  past ! — 
Boy's  pleasures  are  for  boyhood — its  best  cares 
Befit  us  not  in  our  performing  years. 


26 
LIGHT  WITHIN. 

XXXII. 

Not  wholly  dark  the  darkness !  The  shut  eye 
Ts  but  an  intimation  to  the  soul,  , 

That  thenceforth  spreads  a  wing  without  control, 

And  seeks  its  light  in  immortality ; — 

Beating  its  upward  wing  against  the  sky, 
Impatient  of  the  invisible,  and  still, 

Catching  such  golden  glimpses  of  the  goal, 
As  make  new  pulses  to  emotion  thrill, 

And  a  new  spirit  waken  ; — though  denied 
Fruition  of  the  promise,  'till  that  life, 
Which  now  makes  upward  flight  a  thing  of  strife, 

Yields  to  the  better  virtue  in  our  gift; — 

And  we  unclose  an  eye  that  makes  us  lift 
Vans  mighty,  that  must  bear  us  far  and  wide. 


SAME  SUBJECT, 
xxxiii. 

And  night  is  full  of  competence,  and  brings 
A  presence  to  the  soul  that  fills  the  hour, 
Else  dark  and  vacant,  with  a  native  power, 

Which  clothes  the  common  thought  with  mightiest  wings ; 

And  we  sail  on  with  fancy,  and  in  pride, 
To  the  dominion  which  is  over  earth ; 


27 


And  glorious  spirits  gather  at  our  side, 
And  fill  the  teeming  echoes  with  rare  mirth, — 

Hopes  horn  of  best  affections — loving  dreams, 
That  have  no  taint ; — passions  that  still  delight 

In  excellence,  and  virtue's  better  themes; — 
That  inako  all  life  one  starlight  to  the  sight — 

A  realm  of  sweet  re-union  with  the  blest, 

Who  leave  their  own  to  hallow  thus  our  rest. 


AMBITION, 
xxxv. 

Descend,  ye  dark  brow'd  ministers  of  thought, 
Ye  that  are  of  the  mountains!  In  your  shapes, 

Gigantic,  I  discern  great  shadows,  wrought 

Like  those  which  to  my  eyes  have  risen  unsought, 
In  midnight  visions,  and  my  soul  escapes, 

Joyful,  triumphant, — borne  aloft,  along 

Your  gloomy  dwellings  of  the  crag,  with  song, 
Whose  thunder-tones  have  riven  it,  and  yet  roll, 
Subsiding,  o'er  the  steeps  of  each  far  hill, 
That  feels  the  ample  voice  and  trembles  still ! 

Descend,  ye  glorious  phantoms,  vast  and  strong! 
Proud  agents  of  the  swift  and  sleepless  soul, 

Whose  ceaseless  longings,  not  to  be  control'd, 
Toil  for  the  mighty  eminence  ye  hold. 


28 
ITS  DANGERS. 

XXXV. 

Yet,  is  there  danger,  if,  in  that  wild  flight, 

The  tongue  founts  the  spell-word !  If  the  soul 
Sinks  in  its  terrors,  and  the  aching  sight 

Grows  dim  and  dizzy, — while  the  thunders  roll, 
And  the  clouds  thicken !  Bitter  is  the  mock 

Of  those  dark  spirits,  bred  of  elements, 
That  revel  in  the  tempest,  love  its  shock, 

And  glory  in  the  extreme  and  the  intense ! 

IIuiTd  from  their  pinions  down  the  eminence, 
They  flout  the  impotent  spirit  that  would  dare 

Invoke  the  slaves  it  could  not  sway — assume 
The  wand  of  power  that,  waved  aloft,  would  scare 
The  soul  of  its  usurper !  Dread  the  doom, 
If  heart,  and  voice,  and  eye,  fail  in  that  hour  of  gloom! 


SAME  SUBJECT. 

XXXVI. 

And  yet,  to  perish  were  the  kindlier  fate, 
For  one  thus  feebly  striving.     Not  to  die, 

Leaves  him  a  puny  clamorer  for  the  state, 
Denied  forever,— evermore  too  high  ; 
The  scorn  of  all  who  mark  the  yearning  eye 
Forever  straining  upward,  with  no  wing 


29 

The  height  to  overcome,  the  space  o'erleap, 
And  pluck  tnc  sullen  honors  from  the  steep! 
He  toils  amid  the  sterile  hills  of  Time 

That  mock  him  with  delusions  which  still  fly, 
Kven  as  he  seeks  them,  like  th'  Arabian  spring  ;— 

Leaving  a  desert  waste,  a  gloomy  clime, 
A  weary  track  before  him,  gloomier  yet, 
Night  btooping  down  in  storm,  and  the  bright  sun  long  set, 


INVOLUNTARY  STRUGGLE. 

XXXVII. 

Not  in  the  rashness  of  warm  confidence, 

Too  vainly,  self-assured,  that  I  was  strong, 
To  struggle  for,  and  reach  that  eminence, 

Around  whose  rugged  steeps  such  terrors  throng; 
Did  I  resolve  upon  the  perilous  toil 

Which  calls  for  man's  best  strength  and  hardihood, 
Krc  he  may  win  the  height  and  take  the  spoil  ;— 

Hut  that  a  spirit  stronger  than  my  mood, 
Stood  ever  by  and  drave  me  to  the  task  !— 
Oh  !  not  in  vain  presumption  did  I  chooso 

The  barren  honors  of  the  unfruitful  Nine, 
Sure  that  no  favor  from  them  did  I  ask; 

Small  resolution  did  it  need  of  mine, 
To  bind  me  to  the  service  of  the  Muse ! 


30 
SAME  SUBJECT. 

XXXVIII. 

Kvcn  as  the  boy  whom  the  atom  prophet  siro 

Devotes,  in  some  deep  forest,  with  a  vow — 
So,  with  no  thought  of  mine,  and  no  desire, 

Was  I  constrained  to  seek,  and  sworn  to  bow, 
At  altars  whose  strange  Gods  did  never  tire 
Of  service,  but  commanded  night  and  day  ! 
I  knew  no  sports  of  comrades, — when,  in  play, 

My  young  companions  shouted,  I  was  sad  ; 
Fill'd  with  strange  yearnings, — smnmonM  still  away 

To  that  lone  worship — watchful,  yet  not  glad  ! 
Shall  it  ho  doom'd  a  voluntary  mood 

That  leads  tho  boy  from  boyhood, — sports  he  loves,- 
The  merry  games  of  comrades, — still  to  brood, 

While  others  laugh, — in  melancholy  groves  1 


RECOMPENSE. 

XXXIX, 

Not  profitless  the  game,  even  when  we  lose, 
Nor  wanting  in  reward  the  thankless  toil ; 

Tho  wild  adventure  that  tho  man  pursues, 
Requites  him,  though  ho  gather  not  tho  spoil 

Strength  follows  labor,  and  its  exercise 
Urines  independence,  fuurlcsancas  of  ill,— 


31 


ami  pride,— all  attributes  wo  pmo  ;— 
Though  tlicir  Trulls  full,  not  the  less  precious  still. 

Though  fame  withholds  the  trophy  of  desire, 
And  men  deny,  and  the  impatient  throng 

Grow  heedless,  and  the  strains  protracted,  tiro;— 
Not  wholly  vain  the  minstrel  and  the  song, 

If,  striving  to  arouse  one  heavenly  tono 

In  other's  hearts,  it  wakens  up  his  own. 


SAME  SUBJECT. 
XL, 

And  this,  mctliinks,  were  no  unseemly  boast, 
In  him  who  thus  records  th1  experience 

Of  one,  the  humblest  of  that  erring  host, 

\\  hose  labors  have  been  thought  to  nnrd  defence. 

Wliat  though  ho  reap  no  honors,— what  though  death 

Uisc  terrible  between  him  and  the  wreath, 

That  had  been  his  reward,  ere,  in  the  dust, 
Ho  too  is  dust;  yet  hath  ho  in  his  heart, 

The  happiest  consciousness  of  what  is  just, 

Sweet,  true  and  beautiful,— which  will  not  part 

From  his  possession,     In  this  happy  faith, 
He  knows  that  life  is  lovely— that  all  things 
Are  sacred— that  the  air  is  full  of  wings 

Kent  heavenward,— and  that  bliss  is  born  of  scailh  : 


32 
SAME  SUBJECT. 

XLI. 

And  other  lessons  of  humanity. 

That  fill  the  earth  with  blossoms— teach  to  feel 
That  man  is  better  than  he  seems  to  be, 

And  he  declares  himself,  and  deeds  reveal : 
Not  of  good  wholly  fruitless  was  the  tree 

Whose  fruit  was  death ;  and,  from  the  crowd  apart, 
There  beckons  one,  first-born  of  poesy, 

A  gentle  power,  that  from  his  darkled  eyes 
Removes  all  scales,  and  sets  the  vision  free, 

And  teaches  mercy  fr»  the  erring  heart, 
Not  always  wilful !  We  may  nought  despise, 
In  God's  creation  !  Erring  we,  not  wise  ; — 
Given  up  to  passion, — hateful  of  the  just, — 
Prone  to  blind  toils,  strange  follies,  crime  and  dust. 


BEAUTY-VISIONS. 

XLI  I. 

I  saw  it  in  my  dream  !  () !  could  I  task 
My  sense  again  to  slumber,  nor  awake 

So  long  as  the  dear  vision  were  in  sight  ;— 
I  will  not  do  it  so  much  wrong  to  make 
My  rude  words  show  the  picture  thou  dost  ask  :- 
Behold  it  in  my  passion— a  delight 


33 


Trembles  through  nil  my  utterance  !  O  !  I  feel, 

In  the  devoted  beatings  of  my  heart, 
That  I  should  look  enjoyment,  nor  appeal 

To  vain  resource  of  language  to  impart 
This  vision  of  a  most  rare  happiness — 

That  rapture,  it  would  madden  to  reveal, 
Which  song  itself  would  render  spiritless ; — 
It  was  such  sweet,  such  sad,  heart-touching  tenderness. 


SPIRIT-WANDERINGS. 

XLIII. 

Ah,  me  !  that  sleeping  like  Kndymion, 

I  ;»on  a  gentle  hill.«lupe,  flow'r  bestrewn, 

1  could  be  laid  to  wait  the  coming  moon, 
And  her  fresh  smile,  as  some  rich  garment,  don  ! 
Let  the  winds  gather  round  me,  and  the  dell, 

That  breaks  into  the  valley,  catch  the  sound, 

And,  with  its  many  voices,  speed  around 
The  airy  rapture,  till  the  natural  spell 

Rouse  up  the  wood-nymphs  to  delight  my  sleep; 
While  she,  my  mistress,  from  her  ocean  cell, 
Ascends  to  the  blue  summits,  with  a  swell 

Of  those  sweet  noises  from  the  caverns  deep, 
Where  blue  eyed  Nereids  sport  on  ocean's  shell, 

And  to  old  Triton's  conch,  in  long  procession  sweep. 
3 


34 
GLIMPSES. 

XL1V. 

Upon  the  Poet's  soul  they  flash  forever, 

In  evening  shades,  these  glimpses  strange  and  sweet; 
They  fill  his  heart  betimes — they  leave  him  never, 

And  haunt  his  steps  with  sounds  of  falling  feet : 
He  walks  beside  a  mystery  night  and  day ; 

Still  wanders  where  the  sacred  spring  is  hidden  ; 

Yet,  would  he  take  the  seal  from  the  forbidden, 
Then  must  he  work  and  watch  as  well  as  pray ! 
How  work  1  How  watch  ?  Beside  him — in  his  way, — 
Springs  without  check  the  flow'r  by  whose  choice  spell, — 
More  potent  than  "  herb  moly," — he  can  tell 

Where  the  stream  rises,  and  the  waters  play  !•— 
Ah  !  spirits  call'd  avail  not !  On  his  eyes, 
Sealed  up  with  stubborn  clay,  the  darkness  lies. 


LOVE  THE  PURIFIER. 

XLV. 

Lady,  when  o'er  my  heart  thy  smile  was  cast, 
Like  moonlight  o'er  the  waters,— thou  didst  wake 

That  passion  of  song  within  me  which  must  last, 
Less  for  its  own  frail  worth  than  thy  dear  sake. 

The  muse  thus  hallows  fond  devotion's  pray'r, 
Though  lowly  ;— lifts  the  worshipper  on  high 


35 


To  mounts  of  song  in  the  Olympian  air, 
And  makes  earth  pregnant  with  divinity. 

Love  thus,  itself,  converts  to  excellence, 

Clay  that  was  meanest ; — purges  it  of  dross ; 

Lights  the  dull  eye  with  raised  intelligence, 
And  makes  a  gain  to  good  of  evil's  loss. 

Thus  hath  that  smile  of  thine  uplifted  me ; 

How  can  the  heart  be  ill  thus  full  of  thee! 


AUTUMN  TWILIGHT. 

XLVI. 

With  what  a  si-rene  glory  sinks  the  day 

Into  his  ocean  chamber,  while  the  sky, 
Vnvexed  by  wild  complaint,  though  clad  in  gray, 

Is  touch'd  by  wondrous  tints  that,  spreading  high, 
Are  met,  and  in  their  tenderness  outdone, 

By  glimmerings  of  the  Queen,  who,  borne  aloft, 
Blends  with  her  own  their  violet  hues  to  one, 

While  all  her  floating  robe  flows  silvery  soft! 
Thus  stilly  sure,  the  harbinger-glory  winds 

O'er  earth,  through  Heaven's  blue  arches,  'till  they  glow 
Like  a  transparent  sea,  that  never  finds 

The  Southern  hurricane  too  rudely  blow ; 
But  where  the  sun  sets  ever  in  a  smile, 
The  stars  slow  stealing  on  his  steps  the  while. 


36 
FRIENDSHIP. 

XLVll. 

Though  wrong'd,  not  harsh  my  answer !  Love  is  fond, 
Even  painM, — and  rather  to  his  injury  bends, 
Than  chooses  to  make  shipwreck  of  his  friends, 

By  stormy  summons.     He  hath  nought  beyond, 
For  consolation,  if  that  these  be  lost ; 
And  rather  will  he  hear  of  fortune  cross'd, 

Plans  baflled,  hopes  denied, — than  take  a  tone 
Resentful, — with  a  quick  and  keen  reply 
To  hasty  passion,  and  impatient  eye, 

Such  as  by  noblest  natures  may  be  shown, 
When  the  mood  vexes !  Friendship  is  a  seed, 
Needs  tendance  :  You  must  keep  it  free  from  weed, 

Nor,  if  the  tree  hath  sometimes  bitter  fruit, 

Must  you  for  this  lay  axe  unto  the  root. 


DAWNINGS  OF  FANCY. 

XL  VII. 

Voices  are  on  the  winds ! — I  hear  them  now, 
Floating  around  me,  musical  and  sweet, 
As  are  the  waves  of  ocean  when  they  meet, 

Combing  and  flashing  round  some  sunny  prow  ;— 

Then,  as  if  seeking  softer  melody, 

Back  shrinking  from  the  lately  sought  embrace . 


37 

Even  as  the  new-won  virgin,  bashfully, 
Love  in  her  heart,  but  doubt  upon  her  face ! 

How  exquisite,  and  yet  how  sad  withal, 

Those  murmurs,  that  fond  meeting,  and  faint  fall ! 

They  swell  upon  my  spirit's  ear  by  night, 
And  morning  brings  them  on  her  purple  wings,— 
Oh  !  Fancy  !— as  if  feeding  ut  thy  springs, 

They  took  from  thee  all  voices  of  delight. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT. 

XLVII1. 

Nor  only  of  delight!  The  music  swells 
To  sorrow,  as  the  rosy  day  declines, 
And  folding  up  his  wing  among  the  vines, 

The  wandering  zephyr  of  his  garden  tells 

By  the  Euphrates.— Exiled  from  its  flow'rs 

His*  \\ing  is  weary—he  forgets  its  powers, 
And  his  heart  sinks  with  the  decaying  light, 

Most  wretched,  the  Capricious!  three  long  hours! 
Ere  dawn  he  plumes  his  wing  for  fresher  flight, 

Dreams  of  enduring  joys  in  other  bowers, 
And  wild  his  song  of  rapture  that  same  night! 

Rapture  in  sadness  finds  his  fit  repose, 
As  toil  in  sleep  ;  and  Fancy's  self  rebels, 

Denied  her  evening  bow'r  and  brief  repose. 


38 
CONTINUED. 


Whoso  denies  this  wholesome,  natural  want, 
Endangers  her  existence!  She  must  bask 
Among  the  woods  she  rifles, — free  from  task, 
The  master's  eye,  and  hard  command, — and  nap, 
Where  nature  yields  her  groves  and  matron  lap; — 
Where  birds  sing  slumber,  and  the  hunted  doe, 
Assjred  of  safety,  stops  awhile  to  pant! 
Thus  resting,  she  arises,  prompt  and  strong, 
With  eye  all  vigor, — wing  prepared  to  go, 
Rapt,  heavenward,  in  the  upward-gushing  song  !— 
Poised  like  the  great  sea-eagle  in  his  state, 

Sovereign  'mongst  rolling  clouds,  careering  free 
Or,  like  the  meeker  lark,  at  heaven's  own  gate, 
That,  in  her  love,  proclaims  her  liberty. 


REPROACH  AND  CONSOLATION, 

LI. 

Well  said  the  master,—-"  The  worst  grief  of  all, 
Is  to  remember,  in  our  hours  of  wo, 
How  blest  we  have  been  !"*    It  were  rightly  so, 
If,  like  Adam's  memory  of  his  wretched  fall, 
To  the  keen  thought  of  pleasures  ever  gone, 
There  be  the  sting  of  self-reproach,  to  say, 
*  Dante. 


39 


"The  seed  is  of  thy  planting — go  thy  way, 
And  let  the  curse  be  on  thy  head  alone!" 
This  is  the  bitterer  truth, — but  it  is  one, 
In  bitterness  thrice  blessed,  if  it  brings, 
Repentance,  that,  with  healing  on  its  wings, 
Will  cheer  the  future,  and  the  past  atone : 
It  were  a  grace  to  pray  for,  night  and  day, 
In  ashes, — while  the  world  is  out  at  play. 


WARNING. 
LH, 

IIo\v  went  the  cry  in  Greece,  an  ominous  sound, 
When  Elatea  fell— disaster  dread, 
Presaging  Chocronea !     Is  the  tale  read- 
Is  there  no  moral  in  that  history  found, 
That  we  grope  on,  with  tidings  each  day  brought 

Of  outposts  lost  to  the  enemy— our  foe 
That  saps  our  liberties  through  the  popular  thought, 

And  in  our  stupor,  brings  our  virtues  low. 
Yet  may  we  not  despair— a  nation  sleeps 

Not  always : — she  may  need  repose  for  strength, 
And,  at  the  perilous  moment,  break  at  length 
Her  bonds,  as  from  his  lair  the  lion  leaps, 
To  conquest,  in  the  pride  of  all  his  power*  : — 
Ah  !  Chceronea  never  shall  be  ours  ! 


40 
FAERY  GLIMPSES. 

L1I1. 

The  spirits  that  do  dress  the  flow'rs  with  dew, 
And  trip  it  on  the  green  sward,  by  the  moon, 
And  play  fantastic  tricks  both  late  and  soon, 

When  March  with  blossoms  promises  the  Spring, 

Have  been  about  me  in  the  merriest  ring : — 
Methought  among  their  forms  were  some  I  knew  ;— 
They  came  with  hushing  laughter,— for  I  slept 
Beneath  ouv  willows— slyly  round  me  crept, 
And  prankt  my  brow  with  blossoms,— in  my  ear, 
Whispered  the  wildest  dreams  of  elfin  land, 
Then,  in  a  circle,  dancing  hand  in  hand, 
Sung  me  a  ditty  from  the  Moon's  own  sphere  : — 
Starting  from  slumber,  in  the  dear  delight, 
Of  such  a  vision,  it  was  gone  from  sight. 


CHILD  FANCIES. 

LIV. 

A  plague  upon  your  knowledge— books  and  laws, 
Sciences,  theories  and  doctrines  cold, 

Maxims  and  principles,  and  rules,  and  saws, 
That,  propagating  nothing,  from  the  old, 

Lop  off  tbeir  generations  :— where  are  now 
Those  fancies  rare,  those  superstitions  wild 


41 


That  kept  the  heart,  in  wonders,  still  a  child  ; — 
That  taught  the  mind  to  dr  -am,  the  soul  to  glow, — 
That  peopled  air  with  glories — fill'd  the  mine 
With  its  inhabitants, — fiory-mailrd  forms, 
That  traversing  earth's  avenues  in  swarms, 
Met  Oberon's  light  legions,  line  for  line? 
Give  me  these  visions  of  my  youth — restore 
Its  youth,  which  dwelt  in  such  as  these,  once  more. 


SYMPATHY  WITH  NATURE. 

LV. 

W  e  are  a  part  of  all  \ve  hear  and  see, — 
We  share  in  their  existence — we  are  taught 
By  what  they  suffer— with  their  feelings  fraught, 

Are  bound  by  their  captivity,  or  free, 

In  their  fresh  impulses; — the  earth,  the  air, 
Master  us  through  our  sympathies — we  share 

The  life  that  is  about  us,  and  thus  flee, 

From  our  own  nature  to  a  converse  strange 

With  other  natures — to  the  rock  and  tree, 

The  bird,  and  the  sleek  animal  that  glides 

Still  happy  in  deep  thickets.     Thus  we  range, 

Capricious,  still  obedient  to  the  tides 

That  chide  or  soothe  our  streams,  as  winds  impel  the  sea. 


42 
PROGRESS  IN  DENIAL. 

LVI. 

"  Yet,  onward  still !"  the  spirit  cries  within, 
'Tis  I  that  must  repay  thee.     Mortal  fame, 

If  won,  is  but,  at  best,  the  hollow  din, 

The  vulgar  freedom  with  a  mighty  name  ;— 
Seek  not  this  music — ask  not  this  acclaim, 

But  in  tho  strife  find  succor ; — for  the  toil 
Pursued  for  such  false  barter  ends  in  shame, 

As  certainly  as  that  which  seeks  but  spoil ! 

Best  recompense  he  finds,  who,  to  his  task, 
Brings  a  proud,  patient  spirit,  that  will  wait, 

Nor  for  the  guerdon  stoop,  nor  vainly  ask, 

Of  fate  or  fortune,— -but  with  right  good  will, 

Go,  working  on,  and  uncomplaining  still, 
Assured  of  fit  reward,  or  soon  or  late  ! 


WORLD  CONFLICT. 

LVll. 

Thousands  must  perish  in  this  hopeless  strife, 
And  other  thousands  withering  as  they  stand, 

Grow  old  in  the  long  conflict  waged  for  life! — 
The  conflict  not  for  homes,  or  gold,  or  land, 
But  tho  rare  privilege  of  rule,— -command, 

Over  the  meaner  spirits  that  surround— 


43 


And  worship  while  they  mock— that  starry  band, 
They  call  ambitious !     Rivalry  and  Blame 

Attend  their  footsteps, — envy,  and  the  host 
Of  reptile  passiors  that  delight  to  wound 

The  spirits  whom  their  hatred  honors  most , — 
And  worse,  Ingratitude ! — that  still  from  fame 
Plucks  its  best  laurel,  as  if  loth  to  know, 
How  much  it  owes,  and  cannot  help  but  owe. 


TO  MY  FRIEND. 

LVIll. 

Ambition  owns  no  friend,  yet  be  thou  mine  !— 

1  have  not  much  to  win  thee, — yet  if  song 

Born  of  affliction,  may  one  name  prolong, 
My  lay  shall  seek  to  give  a  life  to  thine. 
Let  this  requite  thee  for  the  honoring  thought 

That  has  forgiven  me  each  capricious  mood  ; 

Dealt  gently  with  my  phrenzies,  school'd  my  blood 
And  still  with  love  my  sad  seclusion  sought. 
And  when  tho  gray  sod  rises  o'er  my  breast, 

Be  thou  the  guardian  of  my  deeds  and  name, 

Defend  mo  from  the  foes  who  hunt  my  fume,— 
And,  when  thou  show'bt  its  purity,  attest 
Mine  eye  was  ever  on  tho  sun,  and  bent, 
Where  clouds  and  difficult  rocks  made  steep  the  great  ascent. 


44 
FIRST  LOVE. 

LIX, 

Oh !  precious  is  the  flow'r  that  Passion  brings 
To  his  first  shrine  of  beauty,  when  the  heart 
Kuns  over  in  devotion,  and  no  art 
Checks  tlio  free  gash  of  tho  wild  lay  ho  sings  ;— 
Hut  tho  rnpt  eye,  and  tho  impetuous  thought 
Declare  tho  pure  uflection  ;  and  a  speech, 
Such  as  tho  ever-tuned  affections  teach, 
Delivers  love's  best  confidence  iinhnnglit;-— 
And  all  is  glory  in  tho  o'er-arching  sky, 
And  all  is  beauty  in  the  uplifting  earth, 
And  from  tho  wood,  and  o'or  tho  wave,  a  mirth, 
Such  us  mocks  hopo  with  immortality, 
Declares  that  nil  the  loved  ones  are  at  hand, 
With  still  tho  turtle's  voice,  the  loudest  in  the  land. 


IIEEDLESSNKSS. 

LX. 

Wo  aco  tho  flow'r  decaying  as  wo  pass, 
Pale  with  tho  coming  cold,  and,  on  tho  grass, 
Write  ruin,  with  our  footsteps,  every  hour, 
Yet  pause  not  in  our  process,  though  a  pow'r, 
As  much  superior  to  ourselves,  as  wo 

To  these  dumb  suiTrers  of  the  predestined  earth, 


45 

Beholds  us  rapidly  passing  from  our  birth, 
To  a  like  ruin  with  the  tilings  we  sec ; 
And,  from  our  side,  as  little  heeded,  goes, 
Drawn  by  invisible  cords,  the  treasured  thing 
That  lias  our  heart,  in  keeping ;— yet  we  sing 
As  idly  as  if  lifo  wcro  free  from  foes, 
And  lovo  wcro  sure  gainst  danger ;— thero  i.j  one, 
Who,  speaking  near  me  now,  of  death,  is  heard  by  none  ! 


WASTE. 

LXL 

Days  vanish,  and  still  other  days  arise, 

Like  these  to  disappear,— and  still  we  cravr, 
From  time  indulgence,— with  a  yawning  grave, 
Beneath  us,  that,  with  ceaseless  utterance  cries,— 
u  Yc  ripen  fast  for  me—the  moment  flies 

When  ye  should  ripen  for  eternity ; 
13e  diligent,  if  ye  would  take  the  prize, 
Wrought  for  performance  in  humility, 
In. exercise  of  goodness  make  ye  wise, 
Each  toiling  m  his  station  as  is  meet ; 
For  still,  however  slow,  the  hours  will  fleet, 
Too  fast  for  the  most  diligent !   Your  eyes, 
Will  close  on  mightiest  projects,  still  unwrought, 
That  were  the  favorite  creatures  of  your  thought." 


46 
BY  THE  SWANANNOA. 

LXIf. 

Is  it  not  lovely,  while  the  day  flows  on 

Like  some  unnoticed  water  through  the  vale, 
Sun-sprinkled, — and,  across  the  fields,  a  gale, 
Ausonian,  murmurs  out  an  idle  tale, 

Of  groves  deserted  late,  but  lately  won. 

How  calm  the  silent  mountains,  that,  around, 
Bend  their  blue  summits,  as  if  grouped  to  hear 

Some  high  ambassador  from  foreign  ground, — 

To  hearken,  and,  most  probably  confound  ! 
While,  leaping  onward,  with  a  voice  of  cheer, 

Glad  as  some  schoolboy  ever  on  the  bound, 

The  lively  Swanannoa  sparkles  near  ; —  /     . 

A  flash  and  murmur  mark  him  as  he  roves, 
Now  foaming  white  o'er  rocks,  now  glimpsing  soft  through  groves. 


SONNET  AT  TONGEVILLE. 

XL11I. 

Somers, — if  to  thy  courts  the  robin  comes 
Still  cheerily  chirping,— and  the  gipsy  throng 

That,  in  the  thorny  thicket,  hourly  hums 
In  noon-day  yellow,  with  a  thoughtless  song 

That  stirs  with  spleen  the  rnockbird,  'till  he  pours, 
Beneath  thy  very  eaves,  such  resolute  strain, 


47 


As  takes  the  voice  from  nature,  nor  restores, 
'Till  he  has  pleased  lo  yield  her  ears  again  ;-— 

If  theso  surround  thy  footsteps,  nor  complain; — 

If,  in  thy  walks,  the  timorous  dove  appears, 
Timorous  no  longer,  nor  inclined  to  flee; — 
If  these  unharmed  ones  thus  speak  with  me, — 

Thou  hast  an  evidence  that  nobly  cheers, 
And  with  no  scruple  I  award  it  thee. 


DESPONDENCY  OF  AMBITION. 

LXIV. 

Thou  wilt  remark  my  fate  when  I  am  dead, 
Let  not  fools  scoff  above  me,  and  proclaim, 
That  I  had  vainly  struggled  after  fame, 

'Till  the  good  oil  of  my  young  life  was  shed, 

And  I  became  a  mockery,  and  fell 
Into  the  yellow  leaf  before  my  time  ; 
A  sacrifice,  even  in  my  earliest  prime, 

To  that  which  thinn'd  the  heavens  and  peopled  hell ! 

Hu\v  few  will  understand  us  at  the  best, 

How  few,  so  yield  their  sympathies,  to  k;iow, 

What  cares  have  robb'd  us  of  our  nightly  rest, 
How  stern  our  trial,  how  complete  our  WD, — 

And  how  much  more  our  doom  it  was  than  pride, 

To  toil  in  devious  ways  with  none  who  loved  beside. 


48 
TO  MY  INFANT  DAUGHTER. 

LXV. 

My  child,  my  innocent  child, — when  I  am  gone. 
Strangers  and  time  will  have  untaught  thee  all, 

Thy  faiher's  love,  his  care  for  thee  alone, 
Surviving  hope's  defeat  and  fortune's  fall ; 

And  I  shall  leave  behind  me  nought  that  may 
Teach  thee  thy  loss,  unless  it  be  my  song, 
And  that,  perchance,  will  scarcely  linger  long 

To  keep  my  memory  coupled  with  my  lay  '• 
Sad  lay,  invoked  by  sorrow,  tuned  by  wrong ; 

But,  rude  and  harsh,  still  coupled  with  one  tone, 

To  spell  the  ears  of  love,  and,  in  the  soul, 
When  days  are  happiest,  to  awaken  thought, 

Which  pleasure  cannot  hush,  nor  pride  control, 

Of  him,  by  whom  thy  lessons  first  were  taught. 


MORAL  CAPRICE. 

LXVI. 

There  is  a  mood  that  sometimes  makes  us  cry 
In  very  weariness  of  soul.     "  Twere  well, 

Methinks,  if  I  could  lay  me  down  and  die ;" 
There  is  no  terror  in  the  solemn  knell, 

That  ushers  to  the  grave,  which  gently  opes 
Its  peaceful  arms,  and  promises  repose 


From  vexing  strifes  and  still  deceiving  hopes, 
Friends  failing,  and  the  sleepless  herd  of  foes." 

And  then  we  find  similitude  in  things, 

Beneath  us,  the  poor  leaf  and  flovv'r  which  dread 

The  blight  of  winter,  and  the  recoiling  springs 
That  shiver  as  the  wind  sweeps  overhead  :— 

Thus  fevering,  'till  awakes  the  manlier  mood, 

When  we  go  forth  and  conquer  in  warm  blood. 


ATTICA. 

LXVII. 

Sterile  but  proud,  beneath  her  own  blue  sky, 
Sleeps  Attica,  there  bounded  by  the  sea, 
There  by  Eubo?a ;  yet  how  boundless  she, 

In  sole  dominion;  with  her  realms  that  lie, 

Wherever  winds  can  wing,  or  waters  bear 

The  proofs  of  her  great  magic  ;— magic  wrought, 
By  genius,  on  the  stern  and  shapeless  thought, 

Which  thenceforth  took  a  form  that  cannot  fear 

Whatever  Time  may  threaten.  Overthrow 
Her  altars,  yet  how  certain  that  the  God, 
Still  from  the  eminence  sends  her  breath  abroad 

Spelling  the  nations  with  her  soul  alone  ; 

The  soul  that  makes  soil  sacred,  and  from  earth, 

Triumphant  plucks  the  doom  of  death  that  came  -with  birth. 

4 


50 
POPULAR  MISDIRECTION. 

LXVIII. 

We  are  no  more  a  people  of  the  free ; 
A  change  is  on  our  fortunes — we  forget 

The  high  design  that  made  our  liberty 
A  thing  of  hope  and  wonder,  and  have  set 

Our  hearts  on  earthly  idols,  vanities, 

The  childish  wants  of  fashion,  and  a  crowd 
Of  sordid  appetites  that  clamor  loud, 

The  eager  ear  of  emptiness  to  please. 

The  nobler  toils  that  only  to  high  thought, 
Patience,  and  inward  struggle,  yield  the  prize, 
Are  ours  no  longer ; — we  no  more  devise 

Conquests  of  self  and  fortune  ; — all  unwrought 

That  glorious  vein  our  father's  struck  of  yore, 

Which,  left  unwork'd,  but  makes  us  doubly  poor. 


TO  DEPARTING  FRIENDS. 

LXIX. 

The  friends  that  still  would  keep  thee  from  thy  home, 
Yet  pray  that  when  thou  leav'st  them,  winds  may  be 

MeeTc  and  submissive  ;  and  the  ocean  foam 
Unroused  by  tempests ;  and  the  obedient  sea, 

A  docile  steed  that  needs  no  spur  to  goad, 
Nor  yet  the  anxious  leash  which  Terror's  hand 


51 


Grasps,  doubting,  lest,  all  reckless  of  command, 
The  untamed  creature  Hies  the  appointed  road  ! 
Skies  favor  thee  and  fortune — keep  from  ills, — 

Make  thee  to  reach  thy  haven  and  embrace 

The  pillars  of  thy  ancient  dwelling-place,— 
Hear  all  the  well-known  voices  of  thy  hills, 
And  those  that,  prattling  up  from  new-found  rills, 

Grow  happier,  as  they  look  into  thy  face. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 

LXX. 

Weave  me,  sweet  minstrel,  into  gentlest  song, 

The  story  that  I  bring  thee,  of  a  maid, 
Who,  blessing  earth  with  beauty,  did  not  long 

Withhold  from  heaven  the  treasure  that  it  pray'd  • , 
She  died,  'tis  sr'iJ,  for  love  of  one  whose  heart, 

Wantor.  as  winning,  did  from  hers  withdraw, 
When  that,  persuaded  of  his  faith  by  art, 

She  knew  no  other  life,  no  other  law ; 
And  while  all  wondering,  worship'd, — he,  alone, 

Mook'd  at  the  holy  truth  that  never  err'd, 
Save  once,  when  by  his  baleful  homage  won, 

Him,  o'er  all  others,  hapless,  she  prefer'd ! 
She  died  of  heart-break,— though,  what  earth  his  riven, 
If  loving  truly,  is  made  whole  in  heaven. 


52 
INSENSIBILITY. 

LXXI. 

Methinks,  there  is  no  blindness  such  as  this— 
To  know  not,  though  the  treasure  near  us  lies ; 
Love's  treasure,  first  and  dearest, — which  the  skies 

Vouchsafed,  when  earth  had  lost  all  right  to  bliss; 

The  treasure  of  a  true  heart ;  which,  to  roof 
Lowly  brings  life  ; — and,  when  all  fortune  spent, 

Cheers  with  devotion  and  the  sweetest  proof, 
So  that,  the  sufferer  freshens  with  content ; 

And,  in  the  desolation  at  his  door, 
Sees  hut  the  sweet  security  of  all, 
Which,  lost  to  hapless  Adam  at  the  fall, 

Eden  regained,  had  left  possession  poor ! 

Yet  daily,  in  our  blindness,  we  rush  on, 

Though  hearts  around  us  cry  imploring  to  be  won. 


ATTRIBUTES  OF  LOVE. 

LXXII. 

If  Love  had  not  an  understanding  eye, 
If  Love's  eye  had  not  comprehensive  speech, 

If  Love  were  not  a  thing  of  memory, 

Or  if  to  aught  but  Love,  Love  aught  could  teach, 

How  much,  sweet  heart,  have  I  said  fruitlessly, 
How  much  fond  speech  were  thrown  away  on  thee ; 


53 


How  much  have  both  rcmember'd  bootlcssly, 
How  much  have  others  seen,  who  should  not  see  ; 

How  profligate  our  hearts  of  moments  wasted ; 
How  vain  the  fond  expectancies  that  led  ; 

How  wild  the  dreams  whose  raptures  sleep  u  ilasted 
How  sad  the  sweet  delusions  which  have  fed  ; 

The  hearts  whole  being  from  this  danger  shrinks  ! 

Yet  Love  is  no  such  profligate,  methinks  ! 


SYMPATHY  BETWEEN  THE  PAST  AND 
FUTURE. 

LXXI1I. 

Would  we  go  forward  boldly,  and  gain  heart 
For  farther  progress,  we  must  pause  awhile, 
And  gaze  upon  the  path,  for  many  a  mile, 

We  follow'd,  when  we  first  grew  bold  to  start  ;— 

That  so  much  has  been  traversed,  is  a  goad 
To  fresh  endeavor  ;  and  the  eye  grows  bright, 
With  expectation,  as  the  baflled  sight 

Would  vainly  compass  all  the  o'er-trodden  road  ;— 

The  pathways  of  the  future  will  grow  clear, 
When  the  first  fresh  beginnings  of  the  march, 
Lie  bright  beneath  the  broad  and  sheltering  arch  ; 

And,  re-possessed  of  childhood,  we  are  near 

Heaven's  sources, — for  the  true  humanity, 

Keeps  past  and  future  still  in  either  eye. 


54 
DESIRE  AND  FRUITION. 

LXXIV. 

Three  children  play'd  beneath  a  spreading  tree, 
In  an  old  garden, — a  secluded  clime, 
With  orange  laden,  citron  and  the  lime  :— 
Two  were  twin-children,  and  the  first  who  camo 
Men  called  Desire ;  the  second  bore  Love's  name; 
The  third,  Enjoyment, — sweetest  of  the  three ! 
How  strove  the  twins  then  for  his  young  embrace, 
With  panting  heart,  wild  eye  and  eager  face  , 
But,  delicate  by  nature,  in  the  strife, 
O'erpowYd,  the  child  soon  rendered  up  his  life ! 
Then  fell  the  two  that  once  had  loved,  apart, 

And  knew  no  more  each  other ; — then  a  gloom, 
Settled  upon  the  garden,  while  each  heart 
Grew  cold,  and  Joy's  first  birth-place  was  his  tomb. 


LIFE  IN  LOVE. 

LXXV. 

Oh !  what  is  there  of  magic  in  the  name, 

That  thus  my  heart  should  tremble, — though  long  years 
Have  pass'd,  since,  following  that  delusive  flame, 

I  learn'd  how  little  profit  came  from  tears, — 
How  great  the  shame  of  weakness,  what  the  scorn 

Of  power,  at  meek  devotion,— and,  how  vain, 


When  pride  finds  pleasure  in  bestowing  pain, 

To  hope  that  nobler  feelings  may  bo  bora 

In  the  tyrannic  bosom  ! — Shall  it  be, 

That,  from  the  passion  which  has  brought  me  shame, 
The  sacrifice  of  human  hope  and  fame, 

The  Fates  deny  my  spirit  to  go  free  ? 

Ah  !  wherefore  love  if  thus  ? — but  love  reproves 

The  murmur, — since  he  lives  alone  who  loves ! 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  INTELLECTUAL  ART. 

LXXVI. 

Methinks  each  noble  purpose  of  man's  heart, 
Declared  by  his  performance,  crowns  his  works 
With  a  becoming  spirit,  which  still  lurks 

In  what  he  builds,  nor  will  from  thence  depart, 

Though  time  bestows  it  on  the  solitude, 
The  solitude  on  Ruin,  and  her  gray, 
In  moss  and  lichen,  honoring  decay, 

Makes  her  a  refuge,  where  a  nobler  mood 

Had  rear'd  a  temple  to  diviner  urt, 
And  based  its  shrines  en  worship.     In  the  stone 
Dismember'd,  sits  that  guardian  shape  alone, 

Twin-being  with  the  precious  trust  whose  birth, 
Brought  down  a  wandering  genius  to  a  throne, 

And  gave  him  thence  a  realm  and  power  on  earth. 


56 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT. 

LXXVII. 

Thy  thought,  but  whisper'd,  rises  up  a  spirit, 
Wing'd  and  from  thence  immortal.    The  sweet  tone, 
Freed  bv  thy  skill  from  prisoning  wood  or  stone, 

Doth  thence,  for  thine,  a  tribute  soul  inherit! 

When  from  the  genius  speaking  in  thy  mind, 
Thou  hast  evolved  the  godlike  shrine  or  tower, 

That  moment  does  thy  matchless  art  unbind 
A  spirit  born  for  earth,  and  arm'd  with  power, 

The  fabric  of  thy  love  to  watch  and  keep 
From  utter  desecration.     It  may  fall, 
Thy  structure, — and  its  gray  stones  topple  all,-— 

But  he  who  treads  its  portals,  feels  how  deep 

A  presence  is  upon  him, — and  his  word 

Grows  hush'd,  as  if  a  shape,  unseen,  beside  him  heard. 


THE  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

LXXV1II. 

At  every  whisper  we  endow  with  life, 

A  being  of  good  or  evil, — who  must,  thence, 
Allegiance  yield  to  that  intelligence, 
Which,  calling  into  birth,  docrood  the  strife, 
Which  ho  must  seek  forovcr !    Tho  good  thought, 
Is  horn  a  blcssnl  angol,  that  goes  forth, 


57 


In  ministry  of  gladness,  through  the  earth 
Still  teaching  what  is  love,  by  love  still  taught ! 
The  evil  joins  the  numerous  ranks  of  ill, 
And,  born  of  curses,  through  the  endless  years, 
'Till  Time  shall  be  no  more,  and  human  tears 
Dried  up  in  judgment, — must  his  curse  fulfil! 
Dream 'st  thou  of  what  is  blessing  or  unblest, 
Thou  tak'st  a  God  or  Demon  to  thy  breast ! 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  DEPARTING  OBJECTS, 

LXXIX. 

How  beautiful,  thus  fading  from  the  eye, 

Arc  the  sweet  things  we  scarcely  saw  before  ; 
Scenes  that,  'till  now,  ne'er  challenged  smile  or  sigh, 

How  lovely  seem  they,  fleeting  evermore ; 
We  feel,  too  late,  our  blindness  and  would  buy 

From  memory,  all  that  memory  can  restore  ! 
Thus,  the  o'crburthcnM  form,  as  on  the  bed 

Of  Death,  and  the  last  trial,  it  reposes, 
New  freshness  feels  in  all  around  it  spread, 

And  finds  new  sweetness  in  the  leaves  and  roses. 
'Till  now  there  had  been  nothing  in  the  things, 

Most  precious  near  us,  and  our  eyes  unfold, 

Even  as  they  close  forever,  to  behold 
How  dear  the  gifts  of  homo  our  blindness  from  us  flings. 


58 


THE  PURITANS, 

ON  SEEING  WEIR'S  NATIONAL  PICTURE. 
LXXX. 

Men  were  ye !— foarloss  and  strong  hoartod  men, 
Firm  in  endurance,  resolute  for  right, 

Ready  to  board  the  Lion  in  his  don, 
And,  slow  to  conflict,  slower  still  in  flight ! 

I  heed  not  of  your  bigotry,  that  grew 
From  a  too-easily  persuaded  self;— 
Nor  yet  of  your  strong  appetite  for  pelf,— 

Hard  toils  and  slender  gains  might  prompt  that  too ! 

I3nt  ye  wnrti  men  ! — brave,  earnest,  whole-soul'd  men, 
Forever  battling  in  the  good  old  cause, 
Of  man! — IUH  right*,  his  liberties  and  laws, 

And,  over  all,  his  progress  !  lie  it  then, 

Your  glory  to  have  struggled  through  the  strife, 

Renewed,  and  sure  of  still-renewing  life. 


BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT. 

LXXXI. 

The  record  should  be  made  of  each  great  deed, 
That  brings  unnumbered  blessings  for  its  fruits, 
So,  that,  while  gazing  on  the  vigorous  shoots, 

Our  children  may  possess  the  generous  seed  ; 

Nor,  aught  forgetting  of  the  glorious  past, 
Lay  good  foundations  in  the  future's  womb ; 


69 

So,  when  the  hardy  sire  descends  at  last, 

The  emulous  eon  shall  still  defend  his  tomb! 
Thus  chronicled,  the  mighty  deed  begets 

Still  mightier,— and  the  column  that  mounts  high, 
Where  brave  souls  met  to  conquer  or  to  die, 
Speaks  histories  the  good  son  ne'er  forgets, 
And  joys  if  he  can  emulate  !  Thus  stand, 
Gray,  granite  speaker,  still,  to  glad  and  guide  the  land. 


THE  FALL  OF  WARSAW. 

LXXX1I. 

Thy  sun  has  set,  and  yet  the  *un  shines  on, 
Sad  City  !— not  a  ray  obscured,  and  bright, 

As  on  the  eve  before  thy  hope  went  down 

Jn  blood,  and  battle,  and  o'erwhelming  night, — 
And  thou  wert  made  a  ruin,  shrunk  in  blight,— 

Not  by  thy  foes  alone !— but  traitors  too 

Were  there  to  thwart,  if  not  to  shame,  the  few, 
\V  ho,  to  the  last  sad  hour,  maintained  the  fight ; 

And  clung  to  the  red  ashes  of  their  land, 

As  to  a  mother's  grave, — nerved  by  a  strength 
Which,  though  defeated  and  subdued,  at  length, 

Proves  nobly  what  the  soul  of  man  may  do, 
Cheer'd,  by  a  generous  hope,  to  wield  the  brand, 

In  battling  for  the  cause  it  holds  more  true. 


60 
THE  PEACE  OF  THE  WOODS. 

LXXXIIl. 

Thou  hast  enamorM  me  of  woodland  scenes, 
Good  shepherd,  for  thou  show'st  them  with  an  air 
Of  truth,  to  win  even  wilder  hearts  to  hear, 
Than  his  who  sits  beside  thee, — and  thus  gleans 
Thy  secret  from  thee  of  true  happiness, 
Inbred  content  and  quiet  humbleness, 
That  cannot  be  overthrown  by  rising  high, 
And  vexeth  not  the  glance  of  envious  eye. 
They  blessings  are  of  that  serener  kind, 

Which,  as  they  rouse  no  passions  up,  must  be, 
Lik'd  to  that  breeze  benign  that  strokes  the  sea, 
'Till  it  subsides  in  murmurs.     No  rude  wind 
Disturbs  thy  world's  smooth  waters,  and  defames 
The  glory  of  its  peace,  with  its  unreasoning  storms. 


THE  ANCIENT  RIVULET. 

LXXXIV. 

Sit  thee  beside  me  for  awhile,  and  rest, 
On  these  green  marges  of  the  slope,  and  hear, 
As  yon  sly  brooklet  sends  up  to  the  ear 

Its  chaunt  of  murmurs,  like  a  strain  repress'd 
By  sobbings  of  the  heart  that  pours  it  out ! — 
I  mind  me,  friend,  that  it  is  now  about 


Cl 

Somo  thirteen  summers,  since  I  laid  me  down 
Beside  this  little  streamlet,  as  I  left, 

Grieving  with  boyhood's  heart,  my  native  town  ! 
To  this  I  now  return,— of  youth  bereft, 

And  thorns  about  my  head  in  place  of  crown. 
Then  all  was,  "  lo !  the  triumph  !"  in  my  breast, 

My  thought,  heart,  eye,  on  one  achievment  set; 

Now  !  all  ia  changed  save  this  poor  rivulet. 


LOAN  DEPT 


ow,  or 


LD  2lA-40m-ll,'63 
(E1602slO)476B 


